by James Wade
“I’m sure of it!” said the professor forcefully. “Look: astrologers proclaim that something unprecedented is in the stars. The writer of this mythology claims that ‘when the stars are right’ those who know ‘shall be impelled to open the Gates.’ These men come, frantically study the books, and conjure up a monster beyond the wildest dreams of a hashish-eater. They admit their purposes. What could be plainer?”
I was convinced for once and all of the absolute veracity of the Arab necromancer.
“But,” I inquired, “Renaunt mentioned something about being sent ‘by the Supreme One of Irem.’ What does that mean?”
“Let me read you what Alhazred says; here—
But the first Gate was that which I caused to be opened, namely, in Irem, the city of pillars, the city under the desert.
“Irem is the headquarters of this hellish thing. There, the entire purpose of the Old Ones is known, or at least as much as Man can know of it, and there are some things in Irem that are not even human, unless I miss my guess. Renaunt and Peterson, or whatever their names are in Irem, must be high up, if they were sent on this crowning mission. The island must be a vital spot if it was chosen for Cthulhu’s awakening. We must prevent this, my boy! It is bound to come some day, but if we can stop them now, it will be thousands of years before the stars are right again!”
“But how?” I gasped. “Aren’t the Old Ones already loosed? How about last night?”
“That was just a warning to Great Cthulhu,” said Professor Sterns. “The real awakening can only be scheduled for AllHallows’ Eve; a month yet.”
“How can you know?”
“There are certain times when these ceremonies grow more potent; stronger; intenser. The times are May Eve, Walpurgis night; Candlemas; Roodmass; and AllHallow’s Eve. The opening of the Gate will be a difficult thing. It will shake the Earth, and its consequences will destroy mankind. It is infinitely important to—Them.”
“How can we hope to stop these invincible monstrosities?”
“It will be hard; hard! But Their weak points are Their minions. They must be there to perform the ceremonies. And though all the powers of Irem and the Old Ones Themselves protect them, they’re only human. Not much more than human, anyway—I hope.”
***
During the following month, both Professor Sterns and myself were feverishly busy. I was able to continue my classes at the university, but every day after their termination I hurried to the ancient savant’s crumbling brownstone house, which I had come to look upon as not only a second home, but as a sort of mecca for all the world’s hopes. It was fantastic; a world of beings living in complete ignorance of a ghastly and unspeakable fate which was inexorably approaching and threatening their very souls, while two men struggled to avert the catastrophe with all the knowledge and skill, human and inhuman, in their possession.
Or, rather, not just two, for I found that there was a considerable band of learned men, all over the world, united in a common knowledge of and belief in the nightmare myth, and a desire to thwart the Great Old Ones and Their minions. There was a steady stream of strange visitors to the weathered old house on Harper Street, and an equally strange flow of outlandish letters and parcels. Professor Sterns’ large desk in the library became heaped with neat folios of papers and small packages. What were they? All manner of charms, spells and diagrams helpful against the malignant monsters and Their worshippers. Professor Sterns was particularly excited over the arrival of a large crate from a Buddhist priest in Tibet. This, the professor informed me, contained the Elder Gods’ benign sign, carved by Their Very Selves on a stone brought from another world and spirited away from the ancient and accursed Plateau of Leng expressly to aid us in our mission.
Weeks went by; Bill Tracv, whose disappearance had caused a wide stir, was not found, alive or dead. The beings known to us as Renaunt and Peterson had also vanished.
On a pale, sombre October evening late in the month, Professor Sterns telephoned me and asked me to visit him for final instructions. I left for his house, feeling acutely the nervous apprehension under which I had so long labored.
***
A near-full moon, rising above the trees surrounding Professor Sterns’ house shot feeble rap glinting along the ridgepole of the roof, along the old tin spouting, along the banisters of the wide front porch. A queer chill gripped me as I approached along the gravel walk; the house was lightless. Half formed fears stirred uneasily in my mind as I plied the knocker, but after a short, suspenseful interval I recognized the slow tread of my aged friend approaching the panel from within. It opened slowly and I discerned the kindly, bearded face peering narrowly through the gloom. Almost instantly a look of relief and welcome swept over it.
“Ah! You!” muttered the professor. “I am glad to see you. You came sooner than I had anticipated. Step into the hall.”
Inside, he spoke quietly but rapidly.
“There has been a change in plans. I—we have a guest. He is to help us. He’s—strange. Doesn’t speak English, but he’s on our side. Do you remember how you lost consciousness at the edge of the lake after Renaunt told Peterson to concentrate? That was instantaneous hypnotism, showing a great development of mind-power. Well, our guest has just such mind-power, and more. He will be an immeasurable aid to us.”
Professor Sterns led the way into the study, switched on the light, and there, standing by the desk, was the Guest. Little could be seen of him, for he wore a long, tightly-buttoned overcoat which dragged on the floor. It had been thrown over his shoulders, so that the arms dangled uselessly at his sides. On his head he wore a large hat pulled far down, and (strange to tell!), over his face he wore a grey scarf, knotted firmly at the back of his head. Thus not an inch of his person was visible. Only once did I see him without all this paraphernalia intact.
“This is the young man I was telling you about,” the professor was saying. He seemed highly respectful, almost reverential, toward the muffled figure. But what was it he had said?—“He doesn’t speak English!” He must understand it, though, I thought.
The figure made a movement which might be construed as a bow, and I murmured conventional words of greeting to it. I noticed that the top of the desk had been cleared, and that three suitcases lay in the shadows. I flashed a questioning look to Professor Stems.
“We are leaving,” the savant spoke nervously. “I have discovered where the Great Awakening is to take place. The information is hidden by a clever code in the Seven Critical Books of Hsan, but I haven’t deciphered it. In fact, we are leaving immediately. You won’t need to pack anything. It will all be over—one way or the other— soon. You see, tomorrow night is AllHallows’ Eve!”
***
The street was dark, the walk was long, the suitcases heavy. I carried two; Professor Stems carried the remaining one. Our Guest followed us in a peculiar quiet and gliding manner, unburdened. He seemed shorter than when I had first seen him, but I put this down to a trick of light and shadow.
It may have been half an hour later when we arrived at the field. Under the rays of the moon, dry stubble took on a beautiful yellow sheen, and the airplane shone with a pale silver glow. For there was an airplane on the field, and in it the professor placed his suitcase, instructing me to do the same with mine.
“But,” I stammered, “where are we going? Who is taking us?!”
“We are going,” replied the aged man grimly, “to the north woods of Maine; to a place which I will not name and for a purpose you know too well. Get in, my boy.”
Inside the tiny cabin Professor Sterns settled himself at the controls, with me beside him, while the Guest sat on the suitcases behind.
“I learned to fly,” explained the professor, “from Professor Peaslee, the man whose father had such a dreadful experience when those singularly ancient ruins were discovered in Australia that he committed suicide.”
With a whine and a growl that deepened to a roar, the motor awoke and in a few moments we were bounci
ng swiftly down the field. At its extreme end our pilot lifted the plane’s nose and we were airborne, climbing sharply to gain altitude and leveling off to streak swiftly northward.
Looking down, I could see the thin line of light that was the Miskatonic River fade into the distance. Silence and darkness (save for the monotone of the motor and the illuminating instruments) closed in on us, wrapping us in a pall of almost sentient gloom as we sped on for hours over northern Massachusetts and the southeastern corner of New Hampshire.
Midnight found us over Maine. Professor Sterns was explaining to me more in detail about both our mission and our adversaries. Some of what he said I cannot bring myself to repeat, for the world is better off without it, but other parts of his information were vital and pertinent.
“As you know, the Great Old Ones are elementals; that is, each is identified with and has dominion over one of the ancient so-called elements. Cthulhu is the deity of water, Cthugha of fire, while Nyarlathotep, Tsathoggua, Azathoth and Shub-Niggurath seem associated with Earth. The air-beings are Hastur, Zhar, Ithaqua, and Lloigor. Yog-Sothoth, who is spoken of as the ‘All-in-One and the One-in-All,’ seems not to be associated with an element.
“From hints in the Necronomicon, I can guess at some of the things that will happen at the Great Awakening. First of all, there will be the celebration of rites for days in advance. Of their nature, there is no need to speak. Then, on AllHallows’ Eve (tomorrow night) there will be a long ritual beginning at sunset. Then, at midnight, the book says,
… shall the sky be torn away and from Their dimensions on Outside shall the Old Ones be seen upon the Earth. And the Earth shall tremble at Their aspect, and the Old Ones shall descend and inhabit and ravage.
“What we must do is to stop that ritual, to which there are two parts. The first ‘Opens the Gate’ and the second frees the Old Ones to move. If we can stop it before the end, then the fleeting moment in which the stars are in the right position for it to take effect will pass, and Earth will be saved.”
“How can we stop the ritual?” I asked... “Murder?”
“That is neither necessary nor would it be effective. There will be far too many there. Renaunt and Peterson may or may not be there. What we must do is to counteract their spells and charms with our own, and, finally, destroy their lair of cosmic evil by sealing it with the Elder Sign on that stone block from Tibet. But there are many risks. We may be apprehended before we can do any of those things. For that reason, I have wrist-bands for us to wear. None of the minions of the Old Ones can bear to touch these stones with the Elder sign on them, but only on the Tibetan enchanted stone is it potent enough to stop all evil. Remember, Bill Tracy found the weakness of the bracelets his undoing.”
For hours we droned on over northern Maine. The hands of the clock on the instrument panel pointed to 4 a.m. when suddenly I noticed something.
“Look!” I murmured to the professor, “There ahead!”
Shifting his gaze slightly, he too saw what had attracted my attention. Miles ahead of us, a titanic shadow had blotted out the stars, a shadow whose blurred outlines seemed a hideous caricature of the human form, and from the space where the head appeared to be, there shimmered with an unholy light what seemed to be two great green stars!
And the Thing was moving, rushing to meet us; a giant shape, miles high, whose colossal bulk filled the horizon and stretched to the zenith! Simultaneously, a howling wind sprang up, bearing on its wings the sound of shrill, terrible music, as of great flutes or reed pipes being played all around us in the air.
“One of the Old Ones sent to destroy us!” shouted Professor Sterns. “An air-elemental. It is Ithaqua the Wind-Walker!” Black terror gripped me
The shadow-like Being neared rapidly, yet our pilot held his course, flying straight at the mound-like, neckless head and the star-eyes.
“We must flee!” I exclaimed.
“No use,” said the professor, “this is the only way.”
Louder sounded the demoniac music, nearer rushed the monster. For a moment Its flaming eyes shone directly before us, and then I closed my own. When I opened them, the sky ahead was clear.
“We have cut across another dimension and passed directly through His body,” breathed the professor. “He cannot touch us because of the grey stone. We are safe!” But just then a tremendous gust of wind threw the plane into a dangerous spin. “He is sending His winds to wreck us!”
Through the black night tore howling, whistling blasts of air, throwing us off our course despite everything the professor could do. For minutes he fought valiantly with the controls, but at last a seething vortex of cyclonic strength seized the machine like a huge black fist and seemed about to hurl it to destruction on the earth below. But at the last moment, the winds subsided and the plane righted itself.
“What…?” I began, when Professor Sterns interrupted me with a whispered, “Look!”
On the horizon a pale, opalescent glow broadened imperceptibly, reflecting thin rays upon the mists above.
“Dawn!” The first night of terror had passed safely, but the Great Adventure was just beginning.
***
Less than half an hour later, our plane landed near the village of Chesuncook. There, the professor loaded our luggage into a car which was somehow waiting for us, and, with the Guest in the back seat, we embarked on a trip very similar (and yet how different from) one I had taken a month before.
The day was damp, foggy and uncomfortable. The pine forests on either side of the road stood dark and expectant, unwarmed by the cloud-obscured sun. About noon, the professor extracted a box lunch from one of the suitcases, but the Guest did not partake, nor did the professor offer him any of the food.
It was long past noon when the car stopped. The grey clouds in the sky were still unrelieved, save for a dull glow between zenith and horizon which was all that was visible of the sun.
Professor Sterns then opened another suitcase and extracted a queer apparatus consisting of a square board with a circular hole in the center. In the hole was fastened a shallow metal tray of the same shape, with a curved glass over it which prevented the spilling of the liquid in the tray. In this clear fluid floated an oblong piece of dark wood several inches long, whittled to a point at one end. On the outside board, queer designs were carven.
Holding this odd contraption level, the professor gazed intently at the wooden pointer. It seemed to turn slowly counter-clockwise, but suddenly it reversed its direction and jerked quickly three-quarters of the way around, there remaining immovable.
“This is our guide,” remarked the professor. “It’s a kind of compass, but it doesn’t point north!”
We set off into the woods, following the direction set by this compass that was not a compass. I took the two remaining suitcases (one was very heavy ), and the aged savant went ahead with the direction-finder. The Guest moved unobtrusively along in the rear.
The undergrowth was very thick, and the pines seemed to grow abnormally close together, so our progress was slow and none too steady. I called frequent halts for rest when I noticed that the professor was staggering from fatigue.
Imperceptibly, the shades of the forest deepened and it was night. I began to feel an indefinable aura of evil surrounding these black woods; a sense of cosmic dread and alien purpose, so that I did not like to let my mind dwell on our mission.
Quite abruptly, we came to the clearing. It was about a quarter of a mile across, and in the center was a stone structure resembling a well, bathed in rays of a ghostly full moon which shone from a rift between two clouds. This, the professor informed me, was the only entrance to the most unholy and accursed temple on earth; a place where dark things dwelt with degenerate men, and the site of the All-Hallows’ Great Awakening.
A flickering light as of torches came from the mouth of the open cylinder-shaft, and a faint murmur also reached us from it.
The following events which occurred on that hellish night I must be very careful in d
escribing.
We scuttled across the clearing and crouched by the lip of the round shaft, which rose perhaps a yard from the ground.
“The ceremony has started,” whispered Professor Sterns. “Watch the sky and do what I say.” He unlocked both suitcases, took from one a folio of papers from amongst many more, and from the other eased the great grey Tibetan stone, with its queer carving, laying it between himself and the Guest.
For a long time, the only thing audible from below was the murmur of chanting men’s voices, occasionally broken by a strange, deep, ecstatic moan. Then, syllables in English floated up to us.
“Oh, Raythore, the time has come. Begin, thou!”
I started wildly as another voice began in chant-like speech. For the second voice was that of Jacques Renaunt!
“Death-Walker! Cod of the Winds! Thou Who walkest on the Winds—adoramus te!”
The sky slowly faded to a dark grayish-green, and the wind stirred.
“Oh, Thou Who pass above the Earth; Thou Who hast vanquished the sky—adoramus te!”
The wind grew in a few seconds to a cyclonic pitch, and high in the sky the clouds rushed back with breath-taking speed, as if its force up there were thousands of times greater than we felt below.
“Ithaqua! Thou Who hast vanquished the sky—vanquish it yet again that the Supreme Purpose may be fulfilled. Ia! Ia! Ithaqua! Ai! Ai! Ithaqua cf’ayak vulgtmm vugtlagln vulgtmm. Ithaqua flttaghn! Ugh! la! Ia! Ia!"
Thunder rumbled and crashed around us, adding yet another voice to the insane canticle of chant and wind. The chorus of men’s voices welled up deep and strong as a climax approached in the indescribable chaos of the elements.
“Ia! Azathoth! Ia! Yog-Sothoth! Ia! Cthulhu! Ia! Cthugha!”
Flashes of light showed the straining sky flecked with lines of glowing green.
“Ia! Hastur! Ia! Ithaqua.’ Ia! Zhar! Ia! Lloigor!”
A loud buzzing sound seemed borne on the shrieking blasts of wind.
“Ia! Shub-Niggurath! Ia! Tsathoggua! Ia! Nyarlathotep! Ai!”
